


Kintsugi Mind

by Sarcastic_Metaphor



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hanzo Has Issues, Mental Disorder, Not Beta Read, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 13:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10617801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcastic_Metaphor/pseuds/Sarcastic_Metaphor
Summary: Hanzo struggles to maintain reality, but he's still trying.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Schizophrenia- "A severe mental disorder in which people interpret reality abnormally. Schizophrenia may result in some combination of hallucinations, delusions, and extremely disordered thinking and behavior that impairs daily functioning, and can be disabling. Schizophrenia is a chronic condition, requiring lifelong treatment."
> 
> Kintsugi- "The Japanese art of repairing damaged or broken pottery with lacquer mixed with gold or silver, treating the breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise."
> 
> I don’t have schizophrenia myself and I have absolutely no intention of stigmatizing it, and if I write a key component of the condition wrong/poorly, please let me know. Otherwise, comments are still welcome.

****The most terrifying thing was that Genji never left when Hanzo killed him. Or at least, it didn’t feel like it. The elder’s word was law, but it didn’t stop the guilt. For weeks, maybe months, after the _event,_ Hanzo couldn’t focus on training, on eating, on sleeping, on _anything._ Not when Genji’s voice was still there, in his head, asking him why.

It was a voice so vivid that Hanzo could have sworn that his little brother was still there, watching him.

_Why did you do it?_

_Why didn’t you love me?_

If Hanzo didn’t answer, Genji grew vindictive and volatile, so unlike how he was when alive.

_You are becoming just like father._

And Hanzo was scared. His father was a cold man when he was alive. A man content with killing and stealing as if it were nothing. Hanzo didn’t know if he wanted that.

But he was trapped. His every move was watched. Servants, guards, family, everyone was constantly staring down at him and waiting for him to fail. Then they would be upon him like wolves. Just like Genji.

When spoken to, Hanzo found himself struggling to respond. Any flaw in his syntax or thought and he was sure he would be destined to the same fate as his little brother. Every word was juts as measured as a swing of the blade, or the aim in his arrow.

So if they snapped at him, he would bite back, with even more venom. He saw the servants shrink away from his presence. Good. He was stronger than them. He was better. He had to be.

 _Are you sure?_ Genji laughed at him one night. _Are you sure you are safe?_

_+_+_

During the rare times when Hanzo could actually sleep at night, Genji was there. Hanzo was on the losing side as his brother kept striking him down.

 _You deserve it!_ Genji would scream at him.

And Hanzo never noticed when he woke up. Never noticed whether or not his sword was actually in his hand. He was still dying.

Constantly dying and the sensation never went away.

_+_+_

His lack of sleep was showing in his training. He was growing slow, sloppy, almost apathetic. It was so hard to concentrate when Genji was laughing at him, taunting him, giving him joking encouragement, sometimes applauding his mistakes. The elders insisted that he simply needed to train harder. Cuts, bruises, and scars soon followed.

Hanzo ended every day sore and tired. Yet, instead of sleeping most nights, it was easier to meditate. Yes, focusing on nothing was easier than sleeping.

Except for when it stormed. It was too much to see the shadows thrown about by the illumination of lightning at night. Hanzo couldn’t stay in his room when it stormed anymore. So he tended to wander the halls. He was usually the only one awake so late, but he was drawn to the whispers of voices one night. The only illuminated room in the entire house was the conference room. Hanzo drew as close as he dared and listened.

“He is losing focus.”

“Be patient, he still mourns his brother.”

His grandfather, “I am not going to wait for him any longer! Have you seen him during his training? This is not what Sojiro would have wanted from his son!”

 _They’re going to kill you._ Genji whispered, almost in a sing-song voice. He sounded delighted.

“Perhaps we should find him help? Therapy may alieve his stress.”

_They’ll pick your head apart, brother, is that what you want?_

_“No.”_ Hanzo hissed. The voices within the room quieted, and Hanzo fled.

_+_+_

Hanzo stared at his dinner skeptically. His mother and the elders were preoccupied with a visit from old “friends” of his father. They were in need of money, and Hanzo’s family was deeply enraputed in the conversation. Hanzo himself looked down at his dinner again. His food was surely poisoned. They wanted to see if he would notice. They wanted to see if he was foolish enough to make even a single mistake, especially in the presence of others. But Hanzo would _not_ fail. Any error would mean death and Hanzo would make his own meals if he had to. Better food made by his hand than any other.

He picked at his food, phasing himself out of the conversation to the point that when dinner ended, no one noticed that his plate was still full. The servant that took his dish away made no comment.

_+_+_

Months passed. Hanzo was locked in a vicious cycle of being completely isolated in a castle full of people. His food was made by himself. His sleeping pattern was in ruins. And he strongly preferred to train at night nowadays. No one was there to watch him at night. Except for Genji. But he was always there, always had been.

“You think I should dye my hair orange this time?”

Hanzo paused in drawing his arrow. He glared at his little brother. Genji snickered and shrugged at Hanzo.

“What? Not a fan of orange?”

Hanzo turned back to his target. He was out of his white and orange uniform and in his night clothes, a black t-shirt and loose gray pants.

“Perhaps I should shave your head while you sleep and solve your problems for you.”

Genji laughed. The sound echoed across the training area. “No way! Did you seriously just make a joke?”

Hanzo fired, his arrow striking the center of his target. He said proudly, “I am a man of many talents, little brother.”

Hanzo liked making Genji laugh. It made it seem like less of the world was ready to strike at him. It made him feel young. It made him feel alive.

Genji waited until Hanzo’s quiver was empty to speak again.

“When’d you get so good at archery, brother?”

Hanzo shrugged as he began collecting his arrows. Could he trust Genji with his secret? Surely, even if Genji was a little chatterbox, they were still brothers, yes?

“The sword no longer feels right in my hands, Genji. I have nightmares…” Hanzo debated with himself on whether or not to continue. He did, “...and I use the sword to…to...”

He couldn’t say it.

“To kill me?” Genji asked, almost nonchalant.

Hanzo blinked at him, taken aback. “How did you know?”

Genji got up from the corner he was lounging in to approach Hanzo. He looked smug, but there was darkness in his eyes that Hanzo had never seen before.

“You are not nearly as subtle as you think you are, brother. Crying out in your sleep, begging for forgiveness? How pathetic.”

Genji laughed a cold, bitter sound that was exactly like father’s laugh and Hanzo winced. He wanted that sound to stop.

“Shut up!”

Hanzo impulsively picked up the nearest object, a stone, and threw it at his brother. Genji, startled, narrowly dodged the projectile and was immediately silenced.

“H-hanzo?”

Hanzo jumped, looking behind him, eyes wide as he saw his mother standing in the entryway of the training grounds. She was nearing old age now, but looked rather frightened at her own son.

Hanzo bowed. “Mother?”

Would she scold him for squandering his time away with his brother? When he looked up, he saw his mother making her way down the steps to the training grounds, looking around the dimly lit area with confusion.

“Who were you speaking to?”

Hanzo frowned. Was her eyesight already growing poor? Genji, only several meters away, shrugged at Hanzo.

“I was only speaking to Genji, mother.”

She blinked at Hanzo, as if unsure of what he had just said. _“Genji?..._ As in your _brother,_ Genji?”

Hanzo knew of no other Genji within the castle. He nodded, wondering why mother seemed so confused.

She sounded frightened and scared. “You were speaking to your _deceased_ brother, Hanzo?”

 _Deceased._ The word echoed in Hanzo’s head. Was mother… was she perhaps suffering from some sort of dementia? She was aging, but not exactly _old_ yet. Genji looked just as surprised as Hanzo.

Hanzo spoke softly, “Mother, are you feeling well?”

Hanzo moved to approach her but she withdrew from his touch. She stared at Hanzo for what seemed like eternity, the weight of her eyes feeling like a mountain upon his shoulders before finally straightening up and turning around.

“Follow me, Hanzo.”

Unable to persuade her otherwise, Hanzo followed his mother. She lead him through the halls in silence, and Hanzo could tell by the way she kept an eye on him that she was greatly unnerved. Something was very wrong here. Hanzo felt like he was being lead to the slaughter.

They finally reached a single illuminated room. His mother paused just before opening the door to stare at Hanzo with unsure eyes once more. Then she closed them and slowly opened the door. Hanzo winced at the bright light. And his heart stuttered upon seeing the elders gathered before him.

_It’s a trap._

Hanzo stood, frozen. He whispered, _“What?”_

“Sit, Hanzo. It is time we discuss your change in performance.” His mother gestured for him to follow, but Hanzo’s heart began pounding in his chest. They were all gathered here in the dead of night for one reason and one alone.

“They’re going to kill you!” Genji appeared by Hanzo’s side, frantically drawing his sword. “Run now, while I distract them.”

“Hanzo?” His mother was reaching out for him and Genji lunged in between them.

Hanzo stepped backwards.

Genji shouted, “GO NOW!”

Hanzo’s breath caught in his throat. He turned and he ran.

He could hear voices shouting at him to return. He heard the command for the guards to find him. He had only half a quiver of arrows as the castle around him came to life and suddenly it was a manhunt for his head.

Hanzo stumbled to a stop, hand gripping his face as he realized that he left his brother behind…

A hand reached out to grab him, and Hanzo threw the guard over his shoulder. There were other approaching and Hanzo drew his bow. He fired without aiming and continued running.

He didn’t know how he ended up outside, but Hanzo clawed his way up the outer wall, not thinking to use a window or door. But he was already so close to freedom. His fingers bled and a voice called out from above. 

“Need a hand?”

Hanzo had never been so relieved to see his brother. Genji stood on top of the wall above him, reaching down. But how did he get there so quickly? How was he uninjured? Hanzo took no time to ponder and reached out to take Genji’s hand. But something went wrong. Maybe Genji lost his balance, because the next thing Hanzo knew, he had slipped and was falling from several meters in the air. He hit his head on the ground below, and the last thing Hanzo saw was Genji calling out for him before disappearing into darkness.

_+_+_

When Hanzo woke up, he thought he was in hell. He was surrounded by harsh light. People, doctors maybe, poked and prodded and asked questions that Hanzo was too disoriented to not answer. He was strapped to a bed and drifted in and out of consciousness.

Except one time, he was awake maybe when he shouldn’t have been. Genji was standing off to one side, biting his nails nervously. Then he overheard someone speaking, and a familiar voice. His mother? What was she doing here?

“...paranoia ... _schizophrenia_ …”

She glanced over at him, saw his open eyes, and gave him such an unreadable look that when Hanzo drifted back into sleep he was certain that he had failed. He was not going to wake up.

Except he did, and he was back inside the Shimada Castle. He didn’t know if this was worse than being dead.

_+_+_

Hanzo was diagnosed with schizophrenia with paranoia.

The elders made him take medication that made him feel dizzy and sluggish and made Genji disappear. Except, it never really _was_ him. They forced Hanzo to look at Genji’s grave and they forced him to look at the sword that Hanzo used to kill his brother.

All those nightmares and all those nights of terror only to find out they were real...

Hanzo felt so alone. He was alienated and held with disdain among his family. The medication made him more stable, less vicious, and yet the guilt was crippling. Was it depression? Hanzo studied his condition as extensively as he could and found that schizophrenia could lead to depression, among other things.

It was only one year since Genji’s death and Hanzo’s life had crumbled into dust. He found that the elders were now furiously at war with each other. Some believed that he was still fit to lead, others were less inclined to think so.

His mother ceased speaking to him.

Hanzo felt so alone that he was tempted to stop taking his medication just so he could see Genji again. But what would his brother say to him? Hanzo was his murderer, Genji would surely scorn him.

So Hanzo left. Being in the Shimada Castle and being part of the Shimada clan were killing him. Being treated like he was broken beyond repair by half his family was killing him. Knowing that he had killed Genji was destroying him.

He took at much money, ammunition, and medication as he could and fled, never to return.

Except on those nights to honor Genji.

_+_+_

Being alone in the world was no less difficult than when Hanzo was trapped within his former home. He took on the work of a mercenary for anyone who’d pay. The medication that he took with him lasted for half a year before he started using false identities to refill his prescriptions. His family declared him an enemy and a traitor, and began sending assassins of their own to annihilate him.

They never returned.

In a way, fighting for his life was the best form of training.

But there were times where Hanzo could not refill his medicine and times he did not have to money to do so. Then the voices expanded one-hundred fold and Hanzo was left running from not only enemies, but from his brother as well. There were new people too. Once, while he was in Vietnam, he was given a place to stay by a friendly old innkeeper who Hanzo was unsure to this day whether they were real or not. He saw men in black suits, assassins sent by the Shimada Clan, around every corner, constantly forcing him on the move. Never giving him a moment to rest.

When his insomnia grew worse and Hanzo didn’t have his medicine, he drank. He preferred sake and it’s sharp taste, but stolen bottles of wine and beer did well enough in a pinch. But after years, Hanzo found that any alcohol could dull the pain and let him sleep.

And every year, without fail, Hanzo returned to his former home, the den of his new enemies, to honor his little brother. He will never have enough or do enough to repent for his mistakes, but this made it feel like he was at the very least trying.

Was his schizophrenia his punishment?

_+_+_

When he was thirty-eight, Hanzo once again returned to the Shimada Clan. He recently had to go several agonizing weeks without medication, as he was forced into hiding in a place that charged exorbitant amounts of money that Hanzo didn’t have for medicine. He was back on, but slight side effects worried him. He was dizzy and tired, but he owed this to Genji.

The guards were easily to remove without sounding an alarm and Hanzo knelt before the familiar tapestry, torn and bloodsoaked in one corner. His old sword stood on display before him, an icon of his shame.

Suddenly, Hanzo felt a pair of eyes on him. Should he ignore it? No, no matter what he felt or heard, he learned the hard way several years ago that sometimes, it can still be real.

“You are not the first assassin sent to kill me, and you will not be the last.”

A man- _no,_ an omnic? dropped from the rafters above. He seemed real, but Hanzo was never sure anymore. He fired at the assassin, who boldly called out,

“You risk so much to honor someone you _murdered.”_

Hanzo growled, furious, “You know nothing of what happened!”

He got to his feet and fought this ridiculous pest. He summoned the dragons to consume his enemy, only to see his foe wield a green blade and summon his own. It was hauntingly familiar, just like Genji’s.

Hanzo was sure that this couldn’t be real. Genji was dead.

But when those dragons were redirected and flowed through Hanzo, it was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was so unlike the pull of summoning his dragons. It was as if the dragons, in their infinite power, were pushing away his uncertainties and draining him of his strength.

It seemed so real.

Hanzo collapsed. “... Only a Shimada can control the dragons… who are you?”

Before he knew it, there was a blade to his throat. Was he finally going to die?

But this strange metallic assassin wouldn’t kill him.

“I will not grant you the death you wish for, you still have a purpose in this life… _brother.”_

Hanzo’s eyes widened. _Genji._

“No…”

He threw himself to his feet, backing away and staring at the assassin. At _another_ hallucination. Hanzo was growing so tired of this.

“My brother is dead.” How certain was Hanzo of that statement anymore?

The assassin-Genji- removed his faceplate, and Hanzo saw the brown eyes he knew belonged to his brother.

And suddenly, he was furious. He was terrified. He began retaking his medication several days prior, but it wasn’t enough. Hanzo should’ve known it wasn’t enough.

Hanzo snapped at this Genji. “Why can’t you just leave me _alone?”_

He didn’t care how genuinely taken aback this Genji was.

“Hanzo?”

Hanzo began pacing like an infuriated tiger, shrinking away from those metal fingers when they tried to reach out for him. He knew they would feel real, and he might be tempted to believe in this false Genji.

“I know you are not real! The Genji I knew is dead!”

Hanzo raked a hand through his hair, his tie coming loose. He couldn’t have cared less.

This entire fight was only in his imagination. Hanzo looked at the spot where the railing had collapsed beneath his weight and where his arrow had punctured the wall. He did all this alone.

“Hanzo,” the hallucination spoke, “I am real-”

“No you are not! I know you aren’t, and I am _tired_ of you!”

It was true. Hanzo was so tired. He wanted the hallucinations to go away. It was a childish desire, Hanzo knew that schizophrenia was a lifelong condition, but he just wanted it to _end._

A part of him whispered selfishly that if he jumped from the railings now, it could probably end. It would be so easy too.

Suddenly, a gentle voiced asked, “What do you mean, ‘tired of me’?”

Hanzo looked at this bizarre cyborg that claimed to be his brother.

He spat venomously at him, “You should already know what I mean.”

The cyborg approached, his feet not making a sound. “I assure you, I do not.”

Wonderful, more games. More attempts to drown Hanzo in his delusions. But Hanzo would not let it stand. He ran for the only arrow he had left, the one embedded within the wall. He aimed for the cyborg’s head and snarled.

“How could you forget my _schizophrenia?_ Does it not sound familiar?”

He knew in his heart that he was aiming at nothing but needed something to take his anger out on.

The cyborg stood rooted on the spot. He stared at Hanzo.

“What?” His voice was soft and dare Hanzo say frightened, “You’ve been alone all this time...with schizophrenia?”

Hanzo wanted to roll his eyes. “Why does it matter?”  
  
The cyborg claiming to be Genji took on a new demeanor. He approached Hanzo slowly, cautiously, and forced Hanzo to back up until his back hit the wall.

“I swear to you brother, I am real.”

“You always say that.”

The cyborg continued moving until he was close enough to gently push the arrow to the side, and Hanzo didn’t know why he let him. He lowered his bow. He let this hallucination take his hand and press it to the metal of the cyborg’s chest. It felt surprisingly warm.

“Do you feel me? Do I feel real?”

Hanzo stared at his hand, sadness and resignation overtaking him. “You always do.”

The cyborg withdrew. He seemed at a loss for words. Finally, he spoke again.

“I promise that I am real, brother, and I can prove it, but only if you trust me. The world is changing, Hanzo, and it is time to pick a side.”

The cyborg jumped with inhuman speed and power from the railing, and landed on the rooftop beyond. Hanzo ran to the edge of the balcony and aimed once more at this damned version of his brother.

“Real life if not like the stories my father told me! I am no fool.”

The cyborg laughed. “Real life is not like the stories _our_ father told _us,_ Hanzo _._ I know that there is hope for you. So think on that, brother.”

The cyborg disappeared in a cloud of smoke, leaving only a sparrow’s feather in his wake. Hanzo stood there for several moments, before returning to finish his prayer.

But before he left, Hanzo saw a glint of green in the corner of his eye. He looked, and saw three shuriken embedded within the wall. Hanzo pulled one from the wall and studied it closely. It was solid. It was new. It was Genji’s.

_+_+_

Watchpoint: Gibraltar was larger than Hanzo had expected. It was cleaner too, considering how recently Overwatch was recalled. Hanzo was admittedly nervous when approaching this facility. He had kept one of Genji’s shuriken, and it was sitting in his pocket, an anchor for him to focus on. Hanzo had also shed his old self. He got a haircut and finally got the nose piercing that he had liked after seeing it on a stranger months ago.

The shuriken in his pocket indicated that maybe, this time Genji was real. But would his brother make fun of him?

Hanzo had no way of knowing for sure. But when he approached the Overwatch facility, he saw the same cyborg standing there at the main entrance, waiting for him, most likely alerted to his oncoming presence.

And as Hanzo drew closer, he saw a group so bizarre that he was certain that his meds had failed him and he was hallucinating. There was his brother, two young women- one with mechanical wings, a man dressed as an old American cowboy, and a _gorilla_ in _armor._

Hanzo stopped short of them, feeling quite uncertain.

But Genji was there in an instant, _hugging_ him.

“I like the new look, brother.” He whispered before pulling away.

Hanzo was silent as his brother introduced this group of people to him- Lena Oxton, Angela Ziegler, Jesse McCree and Winston. He greeted them as politely as he could, very well aware of the distrust in Dr. Ziegler’s eyes. In fact, the only one who seemed interested in meeting him- beyond his brother- was Miss. Oxton, who was very bubbly and _very_ British.

But these people were merely the welcoming committee, and Hanzo was left with his brother to be given a tour of the facility. Not wanting to be overheard, Genji quietly switched to speaking in Japanese.

“I hope you didn’t struggle to find this place, brother. I began to regret leaving you so soon after learning about your, ah- ”

Hanzo brushed the notion away. “Nonsense. I’ve been living with it for quite a while now.”

Genji nodded, though it was difficult to read his expression and body language. “When did you find out?”

“About ten or so years ago… the symptoms became most prominent after I-” Hanzo stuttered, “- after I killed you.”

Genji put a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “Do not worry about that, Hanzo. I’ve accepted myself and I want you to as well.”

What an impossibility that seemed to Hanzo, but he said nothing.

“Did you tell anyone?” Hanzo asked. Despite the miracles of modern medicine, schizophrenia was still a rather stigmatized condition and he didn’t need his new teammates acting as if he were insane.

Thankfully, Genji shook his head. “No, never, but it would be a smart idea to alert Anglea.”

Hanzo nodded in appreciation, feeling one of his burdens lifting from his shoulders. The two of them continued with their tour and concluded it with the dorms. Hanzo was given his own room. It had no windows, but that was just fine with him. He set down his bag and the case carrying his Stormbow on the bed.

Genji coughed, somewhat awkwardly. “So do you require medication, Hanzo? For- you know-”

Hanzo smiled bitterly. “I am not uncomfortable talking about it with you, Genji. And yes, I will need medication for it. I assume Dr. Zeigler can help me?”

Genji nodded. “It is her job, after all.”

Hanzo secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

_+_+_

His introduction to Overwatch came with little fanfare, just how he liked it. He passed a physical exam with flying colors, it was just the private mental exam that he worried over.

Dr. Ziegler held him under heavy scrutiny, especially when she learned how heavily he relied on alcohol. Not that Hanzo could complain, this was the woman that had put his brother back together.

“Now, is there anything else that you wish to tell me?” Her voice was authoritarian yet calm, very fitting for a doctor. Perhaps a little clipped when speaking to him as when compared to others.

“Yes.” Hanzo made certain he had her full attention. “I suffer from insomnia, and schizophrenia.”

Needless to say, Hanzo went through days of heavy psychological evaluations before Ziegler deemed him fit to even enter the training grounds with others. Though Hanzo thought that if the doctor had her way, Hanzo would be off the base and back on the streets again.

Hanzo was used to working alone and being with a group of others proved difficult at times. When it became too much, he locked himself inside his room and meditated, or spent hours running his fingers over his brother’s shuriken.

It was also nearly overwhelming to eat in the presence of others, having been so used to being alone.

However, he noticed that it was becoming more and more difficult to actually _be_ alone. People were everywhere now. He was constantly surrounded by teammates and Hanzo found it quite strange. He had assumed that in a moment’s notice, they’d turn on him like a pack of wolves.

But how could someone like Lena behave like a wolf? She was the nicest person Hanzo had ever met, willing to forget Hanzo’s past simply because Genji had asked of it. And she was the first person beyond his brother and Dr. Zeigler to learn about his schizophrenia. He was in the middle of taking his medication when she came zipping into his room about half a second after knocking. He choked on his water and got an overwhelming earful of apologies.

After Hanzo could clear his throat, he stared at her. “Are you not disturbed?”

She tilted her head. “By what, luv?”

Hanzo gestured helplessly towards his medication. “My medication? My schizophrenia?”

Lena laughed. “No way! Emily’s got a cousin married to a bloke with schizo- I’m sorry are you okay if I call it schizo? I dunno what kinda slang ya might use- and when I met him he was the nicest guy in the world and-”

After that her sentences started blurring together and Hanzo just stood there helplessly and utterly bewildered as Lena chattered on about her girlfriend’s cousin’s something or other, but it was beyond refreshing to know that she wouldn’t treat him any differently.

_+_+_

There were other people who came to know. It was strongly advised by Dr. Ziegler that Hanzo notify the other medics within Overwatch, which included Genji’s teacher. Zenyatta was an extremely kind and accommodating Omnic who enjoyed meditating with Hanzo. He was also delightfully non-judgemental. They all were.

And this was admittedly the best decision Hanzo had ever made, to come here. To be with his real brother and find people who recognized his difficulties and supported him. His performance during missions might have even improved, after being influenced by the tactics of so many others. He had the safety of knowing he wasn't along, and perhaps he even began influencing them as well More than once, Hanzo had gotten into friendly competitions to compare aim with the others, and he was most often a highly respected contender. He had even impressed that cowboy McCree and that little gamer girl, Hana. 

_+_+_

Hanzo sat with his brother one night, eating dinner after a particularly long covert-ops mission. It was, dare Hanzo say, peaceful, and one of the kindest gifts that he once would have insisted that he didn’t deserve.  

Genji eventually spoke, “You know, I think this life suits you, Hanzo.”

Hanzo smiled softly. “I have to agree, Genji. Thank you for this.”

“No need to thank me, it was your choice to come here.”

“I suppose.”

Hanzo knew that he would live the rest of his life with schizophrenia. It was a part of him that will always exist, just like the shuriken he kept in his pocket (though more for good luck than anything else nowadays). But finally, after years alone, suffering in the darkness, Hanzo was here. He was happy and he felt _alive._

And it was incredible.

 


End file.
